Sorry for the delay in getting this out, but my computer got overly protective and woiuldn't connect me to the big bad world of the internet until I told it I was using a nice friendly home connection, not a public one. After 24 hours (for me, less for Sally) of sitting on airplanes and schlepping through airports, with airplane traffic backed up on the runway waiting to take off from Newark airport, and lots of switching of trains underground from Milano’s Malpensa Airport, Sally and I arrived at our “cozy loft” on Via Lancetti. We showered ourselves, did laundry, and headed out for food, which we called lunch since it was mid-afternoon here. We ate at what seemed like a quaint neighborhood restaurant and let the waiter/co-owner, an Indian guy born in Australia, named Ash,
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